“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Mrs. Doyle chides, stomping out the front door when she sees Mr. Jackson rounding the corner of the brick wall. She’s been eyeing the entryway for the last twenty minutes.
“What?” he returns. “She left me.” He looks away sheepishly, aware that Mrs. Doyle knows exactly what happened.
“Why couldn’t you be on your best behavior? You have upset the Lady and—“
“What?”
“She’s barely said a word and I’m sure the Lady is contemplating firing—“
“The Lady is here?” he questions.
“Of course, she is, no thanks to you!” Mrs. Doyle barks. “You had one task and—“
“When did the Lady get here? She wasn’t at the station just—“
“That was the Lady,” Mrs. Doyle states with a warning stare.
“She said her name was Moss. Miss Moss,” Mr. Jackson replies, confused by what’s transpired. “Why would Lady Woolri—“
“Why would any woman revert to her maiden name?” Mrs. Doyle replies sharply.
“Oh,” he sighs, lowering his head.
“Oh? All you have to say is, oh?” She doesn’t give him a chance to apologize.
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